


To My Muse

by miyawakii



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Jason is never dead what are you talking about, M/M, some AKB48 references because im a sucker for them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-05-29 17:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15078014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miyawakii/pseuds/miyawakii
Summary: At this point, all Nico di Angelo wants to do is to finish the draft of his final book. Also at this point, all Will Solace wants to do is works through the summer to stay alive. Perhaps there are many things else that they also need, but they aren’t aware of them, yet. Okay, maybe they just need to do it step-by-step, and thus that first step is at The Flying Ship.





	1. Maybe it's time to get out of your room

Nico di Angelo was not amused. At all.

His mornin– afternoon. Yes, afternoon, started at precisely 5:30pm by the immense sunlight pierced through his window; which, was properly shielded by his thick, charcoal-colored curtain, promptly designed and positioned so that this particular, specific, discrete, exact, distinct situation could be avoided. Impossible. Absurd. Insurmountable. Irreparable. Futile. Impervious. Out-of-question.

Gods, if only his bursted brain cascaded this much vocabulary in the last week, then this blasted situation would have been avoided.

 

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The exact cause of Nico’s sudden awakening from his beauty slumber, beside the fervently scorching Californian sun, was Jason Grace - his saving grace, most of the time, but currently, his greatest curse - enthusiastically threw out his arms and let the curtains flew over to two sides, deliberately letting the raging shines engulf the enchanting darkness of sleep in his one, single attempt to wake Nico up. Jason’s answer, if he was ever be interrogated for his profound crime, would be “I ran out of shit to give.” It doesn’t matter that Nico had already slept for sixteen hours, gods, he haven’t had a proper rest in the last seventy-two hours that lead to such state, but it was not the time to be awake yet. Time is an illusion, and the only clock Nico followed is his own heart.

And thus, Nico fought. Intensely, passionately, fiercely, for his liberty, his right to continue to fake his ineluctable death by simply closing his eyes for an immensely short period of time in a dark room.

 

“And what the fuck was that, Grace?!”

“The sun has risen, Nico, around twelve hours ago, and was about to finish his shift. I just want to make sure that you’re not dead – well, you have a book to finish afterall. By the way, Piper wants me to remind you that the next checkpoint is three weeks away from now.”

“Well, yes, thank you for your tremendous, most genuine concern. I’m sure that Ms. McLean would not be pleased to find out that I died in your merciful care.”

 

Oh, did Nico mentioned that he is a writer?

Yes, he is a writer. Yes, his series is a hit. And yes, Nico doesn’t live with a roommate for sheer economical purposes, but for humanity’s sanity over making sure that he is alive and shield the paparazzi’s attempt to convince T*mblr and Tw*tter that Nico di Angelo, author of the successful “Dystopian 20.48” series, is indeed a vampire. Just,… no.

 

He spied, with his tiny crack of eye-openings due to the need to sleep, that his blond roommate just rolled his eyes. “I appreciate the… appreciation, Nico. But seriously, you need to stop this.”

“Stop what? Sleeping? Working? Writing? Being an author? Breathing? Make yourself clear, Thunderboy.”

“I swear to the gods, Nico, that thunder after my speech in eighth-grade was a coincidence– and by ‘stop this’, I mean 'stop your dysfunctional sleeping schedule and fix it.’”

“How so, Grace? Didn’t I just slept,” Nico paused, turning his head slightly to look at the clock on his desk “through the evening?”

“I don’t know, Nico, you are 23,” Jason dramatically paused, massaging his temple “you ought to know how to take care of yourself by now.”

“Don’t bring ages in here, Mr. I’m-a-25-year-old-mother-hen-that-sleep-in-my-Superman-themed-bed.”

“Nico, the point is, you can’t just not working in a week and then just rushed yourself the next three days writing and not doing any, anything else.” Jason flung his arms out, again, slightly forwarded his body and glance his blue eyes around the room, trying to make a point “I know you got writer block and sometime need to rush for deadlines, but Nico, take care of your health for once.”

 

This is a speech that is too familiar to him, Nico silently thought, a variation of a multitude of scolding he received from this exact Jason Grace, started from seventh grade, when Nico started douse himself to the idea of writing books, to now, this very moment, and perhaps will continue for the rest of his ephemeral life. Nico knows he was being melodramatic, but whatever.

 

Still, he got what the older boy was trying to say, and kind of regretting his life choices. Surely he would not live, functionally, this long, without the saving grace that is the care of Jason. And even though Nico was pretty sure that this situation will happen again, at that moment, he almost promised to not project himself into this kind of working habit again. Jason seemed to pick up on it, too - Nico’s penitent aura, that’s it. He sighed, long and tired, like a mother just finished scolding her premature son for some misdemeanor he committed again and again despite her reasoning.

 

“Fine, just… get out of here, your room, the apartment, I mean. At least go to the new coffee shop right across the street and tell me how the drinks tasted like. I heard that they served pastries, too.”

 

“Fine, Mom.” Nico answered, sarcastically, and went to the bathroom door, right at the edge of his room that is connected to the one, single bathroom in the apartment. Bless the designer, for not making Nico to walk out of his room for his humanly need, or at for least giving him that illusion.

 

 

Afterward, Nico did just that. Walked to the coffee shop, laptop in his messenger bag – at least he got outside and attempt to be productive, Jason cannot disapprove of that – and calculate how much his conversational word-limit should be.

 

“Good afternoon, welcome to The Flying Ship, how can I help you today?”

 

Well, that was before how breathtaking he realized the barista was.

The first thing he registered through his eyes was the kid’s blinding smile – toothy, genuine, immersed in sunshine, charm and happiness – then the curly mop of hay-colored hair hidden in his dark green cap. Hay-colored perhaps was not the best, nor the most accurate narration Nico ever made in his life. His hair was the color of hay, drenched in the lavish, divine golden hue of the sun – just like how Nico captured the shade of the rice fields of that August he spent with his family, with the early afternoon fire dancing through the land, sneakily give kisses to his olived skin and the grains, along with the soothing warmth of Bianca’s hand safely engulfed his palm. The safety and peace assured his yet to be tainted soul. His eyes, sky blue, Nico noted, were different. They sparkled through the fluorescent, blinding light of the shop, tranquil and limpid as the summer sky yet so passionate, as if the vast blue outside was actually a part of the orbs. They reminded Nico of no memory in particular, though sent him a feeling he longed to embrace - a specific kind of equanimity that even his words can’t yet to described, a passion so distinct that no matter how much he tried to tune the color wheel again, the hue produced never, ever precisely transcribed that feeling.

 

The boy behind that counter was his blessing and curse at the same time, though this situation is different than Jason’s case. Jason was with him long enough for his case to be practical, and the stranger in front of him only sent emotions and feelings. The boy was peace and passion, simultaneously. Yet, the brighter shade of his physique reminded Nico of calmness and the quieter shade reminded him of raging emotion.

 

Gods, had he already fallen for the boy that hard?

 

Nico realized, after finishing his dramatic depiction of the stranger, that he must looked like an idiot after standing still, eyes gorged on the sight of the worker right in broad daylight. He must flee now, Nico thought, about to chicken out another potential human interaction, before reminded himself of cakes and coffee.

 

It’s not Jason’s fault that the good coffee at home ran out, he reminded himself.

 

Robotically, Nico moved toward the counter, though leaving some space in between to signal his attempt to read the menu first before ordering. He hoped that the barista would not mention, or better yet, noticed, the awkward situation that was Nico di Angelo staring at his face several seconds ago. He settled for macchiato, and told the boy such:

 

“One expresso macchiato, please, with no sugar and a bit more cream.”

“Yep, and may I please ask for your name?”

“Nico.”

“Alright, 'Staring-doe-eyed-boy’”

“What?” Nico can felt his face becoming more of a tomato-hybrid, the summer heat become bit by bit tenser.

“Nothing, Nico-sir.”

“Seriously, drop the 'sir’, and what did you just call me again, before that?”

“Seriously, dude,” the barista – Will, his nametag said – let out a small laugh “You can’t just blatantly stare into anyone’s face and expected them not to notice.”

 

This time, Nico allowed his face to blush, full-force; no, more of that Nico can’t stop the crimson to flood to his cheeks, red the shade of embarrassment and awkwardness.

 

“No problem, though,” Will, the Golden Boy, had a wash of guilt over his freckled, tanned face “People gaze a lot once they stepped foot in here. It’s not a typical shop, after all. Though I do appreciate you taking in my… visage, first of all things.” Will smiled over the purposefully cringy French accent, the corner of his lips turned mischievous and playful “Is that all for you?”

Oh, yes, the order. He forgot “Can I get the blueberry mousse, too? And… one chocolate cake pop.”

“No probs, Staring-Guy,” the teasing smile was at it again “Your total would be $14.30.”

“That’s… quite nice, compare to most place these days.” Nico noted, his eyebrows raised in an amusing surprise, and fished out the bills from his pocket

“Well, we tried our best.” Will cheerily smiled, accepting the money and clicked a few more button on the cash register. His long, delicately shaped yet calloused and strong, carefully picked the change; then, with his unwavering smile, drop the coins to Nico’s hand. “Your order should be finished by several minutes. Enjoy your time!”

 

Nico silently nod, though his facade cannot completely hide the steaming embarrassment left over from several minutes ago, nor the fact that Will’s pure, blinding smile melted at least some frost in his lonely heart. They were probably just “customer service smile”, Nico reminded himself, try to keep his heart from preaching to high to the sky, though the fact that he felt the need to control such feelings was enough to judge how… infatuated he was with the barista.

If Percy Jackson was here, he swore, that boy would have already made a “your type” joke, just for the sake of relieving the high school nostalgia.

 

With Will temporarily out of his sight (such unfortunate), Nico had his time to give The Flying Ship a complete, thorough look. The concept is not foreign, yet fairly new in this part of the world – a book-themed coffee shop. The Flying Ship – though at this point Nico would like to shorten it to 'the Ship’, or 'the Boat’ if he decided to be less nice – the interior walls were painted by a faint, bright yellow, shining enough to pop-out the color of the shop, yet translucent and just light to ease the soul. Along the walls are flimsy notes drew by markers and ballpoint pen, as if the shop deliberately encourage clients to leave lovely words on their walls (though, some little shit will decided to sabotage the nice intention by carving some vulgarities, just like how we was in high school). Strangely enough, there were pure white clouds painted on the walls, as if the sky is truly in a pastel-yellow shade and the blue out there was just an illusion. Along the walls are bookcases – at least ten of them, Nico estimated, each were brimful with covers and words. Half of those are teen and young adult novels, it seemed like, though there were a mysterious number of equally intriguing thick books, as if people are really about to read _Les Miserables_ at a coffee shop. How did they got such tremendous amount of books, Nico doesn’t know, yet soon after he spotted the poster near a bookcase: SELL YOUR OLD BOOKS AND RECEIVE COUPONS! written in bright neon sharpies and elaborately decorated, the arrow pointed to the register.

 

At that very moment, Will’s beaming voice entered Nico’s mind, not fake, overly sweet yet bear the candied taste of nectar (or what he imagined that taste would be). Will was calling his name, since apparently his order was completed. Nico was so lost in thought and his observation to judge how fast or slow the service was, but that’s not really important. He quickly picked up the tray, tried to not make any awkward, unnecessary eye contact while also tried to balance said tray by his two hands; he was careful not to spill the coffee, and picked the elevated area of the shop. Said seating space looks quite cute and inviting, perhaps since it was foreign as well, and people tends to examine and taste the flavor of the exotics; especially if it was something as simple as a seating style, completely, reasonably within one’s comfort zone. For all intents and purposes, they traveled and get thrilled in every small, strange and new aspect of life. That’s being said, the table was very, very comfortable: the table is low, kotatsu-styled, in which one the only fluffy object between their butt and the floor is a cushion pad. It was adjacent to the glass wall, which was bestrewed here and there with cute, tiny doodles on the rainbow-colored rows of post-it notes. He could see the busy, hectic street outside yet completely removed from it; as if for once, one would enjoy only witnessing life through their safe glass boundary, completely invisible and out of touch with the frantic beat of life outside the glass. Two separate worlds; an audience beholding a manic yet melodious and graceful play. As if the intense heat from frictions outside was translated to warmth, filtered through the glass, and percolate into his heart; pure energy without the chaotic side effects. And that’s why it seemed very, very comforting.

 

His choice of seating did not take into consideration that it was the place that enabled him to most conveniently seeing everything that Will does behind the counter. Not at all. If asked, it was because “I had a lot of stuff on my tray and don’t want to risk it.”

 

He also didn’t bargained for the eloquently flowing river of words inside his head, nor the fact that his “writing” style has gotten quite sappy inside his brain. Not at all. If asked, he would answer that “Maybe Jason was right; getting out of my room was a good idea!”

 

Nico opened his laptop and began to write the next part of his story. He got an inspiration.

 

 

Two lovers, in an abyss of a dystopia; the make-up camping site, the quiet, atypical moment of freedom and a project of destruction.


	2. Of Writing and Infatuation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Solace is quite… impressed, but he isn’t a writer nor is he that good in English, so please be satisfied with such description. After all, this boy is just going to be one in thousands of unnamed face that visited the shop for a relaxing afternoon and a cup of coffee. That’s it.
> 
> \--------
> 
> Fish Jesus: Neeks muh child have ya found yar type yet?  
> Jace said that ya haven’t escape from humanity yet after liek 2 hrs outside  
> Is he blond?  
> .... His second, coherent thought, was “What the fuck did you tell them, Grace?” and he texted Jason just that.

**2\. Of Writing and Infatuation**

_“Phoebe and Adria, the future and the past, shoulder to shoulder under the old, nameless, forgotten bark. The former’s hand was as warm as chocolate, shrouded the latter’s moonlit palm; as if the Sun tried to shield its youth from the merciless void of space, not letting the warm to escape nor the cold to seep in. They are united in the present, the only point that they could gaze into each other’s fervent fire, selfishly seek their reflections amidst the other’s eyes._

_But it’s not the happy ending. Not yet. The biting, jealous wind will writhe its way in, stealing the warmth in exchange for their excessive bitterness through the crevices between lovers’ fingers.”_

Nico’s books are never going to be simple. He would be making sure of that. Thus from time to time, there will be a small, but arduous battle to get the words and the ideas to move, to pour out their secrets in physical forms. Occasionally, he would forgot what detrimental underlying theme he was going to sneak in, what momentous questions and what preeminent lessons he was going to sprinkle in. The moments that the brain forgetting and the heart remembers are frustrating; as if they tore his mind into two halves, into those who remember and those who forget. But that’s why he doesn’t write a long, continuous stretch of a draft. That’s boring and stiff, and a writer ought not to paint a boring and stiff painting. He pours his heart out, bit by bit. Whenever inspiration comes through. Human minds are spontaneous, always sparkling a random, yet elegant color at any moment without warning.

He drew his doodle parts by parts; a patch on the left and pieces on the right, then he connect them by the right stroke, shaped and curved the words here and there to adorn the overall piece. The words dance along with the symphony of his neurons; or maybe the orchestra was conducted by the united words themselves. Thus, writing is many form of arts in itself: music, dance, and fine arts. Bursts of colors shaped into words, elegantly move along to the harmony of life.

–

Will Solace was having quite an ordinary day. Wake up, took a jog around the neighborhood, said hello to ole Mrs. Holger two streets over, who was also taking her morning stroll with her dog Miro, whom was more than eager to accept the treat Will has previously stored in his pocket. He came back to his little shared apartment, took a shower, worked on the assignments for his online courses before his roommate, Cecil, woke up. Cecil is quickly whipped up a small breakfast for both of them - Will was still banned from the kitchen - they ate, then Cecil had to leave for his job at the grocery store. Will was left alone for a few more hours to do his work, check his phone, occasionally turn on the TV for white noise, took a satisfying nap, then left for The Flying Ship, his first shift of the day. Conventional, was it? Until a mysterious young man draped in a black anime-themed T-shirt (Boku no Hero Academia, he realized) and tattered jeans came in, spent at least one solid minute to stare into his blond mop and his eyes. He had been complimented on his look several times, mostly from girls and guys who had tried to flirt, but never had he seen anyone… that entranced by his looks. Wow. Much wow.

 

But the kid is cute, so maybe he did stare a little bit, too. Enough to notice that the kid’s raven hair is quite a mess from just waking up, and his dark, deep orbs seemed to suck the attention of anyone who dare stared into his eyes. Staring-Boy was also wearing an old, beat up red converse, which thrown the emo color scheme quite off, and there are pink flowers, in chalk, drawn at the white patch of the shoes. A messenger bag was attached to his scrawny form, so perhaps he was just a kid who was done with whatever summer classes he had. That remind Will a lot of his high school career, which was utterly tiring, now that he looked into it from an outsider’s point of view.

Will Solace is quite… impressed, but he isn’t a writer nor is he that good in English, so please be satisfied with such description. After all, this boy is just going to be one in thousands of unnamed face that visited the shop for a relaxing afternoon and a cup of coffee. That’s it.

 

He greeted the kid, asked him what he would like to be served this afternoon like the perfect employee, then tried to forget how much his heart fluttered and his gut warmed by the kid’s airy, awkward and gentle voice. He completely did not make a joke just to hide his about-to-come-out awkward laugh and try to get the boy - Nico, that’s his name - to talk more. Nico’s voice lost the airy-ness as he speak, sunken into a more solid octave, though his manner and red face was still embraced by the awkwardness of “the staring”.

 

He turn away, the “customer service” smile blossomed on his lips, a sensation he was too familiar with to care, and his hand began to busy themselves before his eyes could wander toward Nico, a person he probably would never see again after today. So he prepared the order: one expresso macchiato with no sugar and teeny bit more cream, a cup of blueberry mousse, and a cake-pop; both of which he simply has to remove from the displaying refrigerator. He drew a rabbit on the drink; it made no sense, he knew, but Nico reminded him of a rabbit, of all things, so that what he did. Will was exceptionally horrible at drawing, the only one in his crowded family that could not draw, but he did decent on the rabbit, at least.

His voice did not at all more cheery than usual as it taste Nico’s name once more on the tip of his tongue, nor did he discreetly eyed Nico picking the seat area closest to the counter. And he absolutely did not need to convinced himself that it was just a coincidence, that Nico didn’t need to mind his existence in order to choose a seat.

 

Then, another group of customers came in, his voice and smile automatically jumped onto his lip, and his brain definitely did not longed for a few more private, day-dreaming moments with Nico in mind.

 

The shop is not as busy as usual today, taking into the consideration that this is 6pm on a Monday evening, the least likely time of the day that people would go out for a cup of coffee or some pastries. The shop is filled with just the right amount of people - loud enough that there was white noise buzzing around, silent just enough for concentration; vacant enough that one could find a private corner of their own, yet filled enough with people so that the shop was thriving. As the night proceed to invade the skyline, less and less people is coming in while the guests inside were prepared for the eventual depart; some made an effort to flash a small, polite smile at Will, pleased with the service. To be fair, there was not much to do in today’s shift; even though there is only one person working, the work was fairly facile. Most of the time, Will occupied himself with his homework, and, from time to time, directed his gaze toward a certain boy near the glass window.

———–

Nico is typing furiously at his keyboard; his hands fleeting through letters and letters, the words pranced across the blank, white screen, filling the pages with colors.

 

_“Adria collected the notebook from the camping ground, gently trailed her delicate fingers through the senescent leather cover. The printed golden star in the middle had evanesce, leaving in its place sprinkles of gold and the star-shaped imprint. She spoke, softly, as if she herself is reluctant to allow the sound to escape:_

_‘Do you remember how we’ve met each other?’_

_'Detention. For not 'taking the assignments in a serious manner’.’ Mei answered, her sentences crude and precise. Adria’s lips curved lightly. Mei continued 'The prompt was 'Unexpected’.’_

_'I still remember what we wrote about.’ Adri said, her voice grew to be solid 'Songoro’s was the sculptor, Hasan’s was invincibility, yours was fire…’ She trailed off, lost in nostalgia. Mei finished the list, ’… And yours, Adria, was the dancer.’_

_Right, Adria mused, the smell of daisies lingered in some corners of her collective memories. The sculptor who determined to turn his world into arts, started engraving himself. The warrior who lived in his victory, stabbed himself in the final attempt to assert his invincibility. A lover doused himself in the fire to find the warmth of love again. Finally, a dancer, dribbled her passion in her last performances, before surrender herself to the ocean._

_The stories were too dark for a utopia, per se, yet at the moment, they were the event horizon of the world’s black hole.”_

 

Nico paused for the last sips of his coffee; the porcelain cup had lost its warmth, its taste turned daunting sweet with what was left of the coffee and cream. The macchiato was lovely, he contemplated, his chest grew sultry. The instruction he gave was quite meticulous, yet there was a peculiar, distinct tint in the cup’s flavor; the cream was a tad more foamy and the coffee a touch of savory. Nico then remembered the white rabbit drew on his cup, blood surged to his cheek. It was clumsily delineated, its outline wobbly, yet perhaps the barista had meant something as he drew it. Did Nico reminded him of a bunny? Did the barista, Will, just wants to mess with him? Was it just a coincidence, a de minimis choice? Did he just simply overthink it?

Nico opted to ignore whatever possibilities his paranoid brain generated, shifted his hand and focus toward his blueberry mousse that was long gone. “Right,” Nico mused, the sweet had quickly disappeared at around his fifth scoop. Not that the cup is overly tiny; his scoops were just enormous. See, an side effect of always asking for coffee with no sugar is that people often neglect that he had asked for extra cream; which mean he just don’t like the taste of glucose in his coffee, and in no way did that prove that he does not have a sweet tooth.

 _“Hey, Nico di Angelo just admitted for once that he doesn’t always fond of dark, bitter and tortuous flavors. Congratulations on placing your bet!_ ” Nico sarcastically thought.

Nico glanced at the miniature clock at the corner of his laptop. 20:54, it said. He had been so absorbed in his writing that the hours just fleeted out of his mind, its touch so gentle that he scarcely register its flow; the Sun had casually slumbered to its coastal sheet of ocean blue without a care. Usually, Jason would have called him to “drag his ass back home” for dinner, but perhaps Thunderboy had been so glad in kicking Nico out of the apartment, he wouldn’t mind if Nico got home later than usual. That’s being said, he hasn’t checked his phone in a while…

 

_**18:47  
Graceful Thunderboi: ** when r u coming back?_

_**18:59  
Graceful Thunderboi:** anbeth and perc is back from berkeley_   
_they want the gang to go out for dinner today (quote perc)_   
_im forcing u to go dont worry_

_**19:24  
Graceful Thunderboi:** just get home before 9_   
_somehow they want to go at like 9:30 so eat some snack if ur hungry_

_**19:49  
Graceful Thunderboi:** neec why r u out for so long_   
_“have Neeks found his type yet? is that why he is not answer the phone? be safe muh child.” - perc_   
_if u r not back by 9 im gonna go drag ur ass up_

_**20:32  
Fish Jesus:** Neeks muh child have ya found yar type yet?_   
_Jace said that ya haven’t escape from humanity yet after liek 2 hrs outside_   
_Is he blond?_

_**20:45  
Golden Lil Sis:** Nico, Frank and I are going to pick you two up. Be ready at 9:15._

 

His first thought, actually, was the startling silence in his mind from the emotional overload. Anger. Embarrassment. Speechless.

His second, coherent thought, was _“What the fuck did you tell them, Grace?”_ and he texted Jason just that. The replies came almost immediately.

 

_**Graceful Thunderboi:** was it the tan blond dude with pretty eyes? he works afternoon shift 3-11pm i think._   
_reyn told me that. she loves the matcha there._   
_she said that the dude looks like octavian but waaaaaayy cuter and his attitude is so much better. like octavian minus everything except for the hair and eye color._

_**Nico:** How the fuck did you know his work schedule?  
Don’t be weird, Thunderboy._

_**Graceful Thunderboi:** reyn asked him for u. she said that he’s cute.  
the dude is friendly too he answered all that type of question._

_**Nico:** Why??_

_**Graceful Thunderboi:** told u. reyn thinks he is cute for u._   
_and yea the reason i told u to go down there is bcuz reyn told me to._   
_btw just go home now it’s almost 9 haz is gonna be here any min._

 

Nico glanced at the time, this time on his phone. 21:09 stared right into his dark eyes, the numbers turned snarky in his mind, as if they were taunting him. Slightly panicked - Hazel and Frank are the two most on-time people to ever lived on this wide green Earth - Nico cleaned his laptop, put the tray and the cup and dish on the counter, then hastily left the shop.

Nico only glanced back, once, when he was in the middle of crossing the street - don’t worry, the pedestrian light was still green for a long period of time - and catch the eyes of the barista, and the guy flashed Nico a small smile, his hand waving.

Maybe Reyna is quite right after all.

Still, you are dead, Thunderboy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone that read this fic and supported me lmao. Your attention is the strongest drive that brings my lazy butt to writes.


	3. Life is as Butterfly Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thus, Will and Nico would meet again, in a span of twenty minutes, at a nearly impeccably identical situation, this time at the karaoke room six blocks across town.
> 
> \------  
> Nico knew this would come... This exact moment. This particular interrogation.

 

It was 11:30 when Will had just finished cleaning up the last of his works before leaving the shop to Connor, who showed up a while ago for his night shift.

 

The Flying Ship is a 24/7 shop, for anyone who suddenly craves for a sweet in the middle of the night, late-night workers that need some light snack to refill themselves before coming home, or some unfortunate all-nighters who need to submit an essay at 6 am. Even though this was summer - the college students have no rush to turn anything in - The Flying Ship is one of the only places in this neighborhood to serve all night long, and thus much busier than Will's weekdays afternoon shift. Plus, Alice's foods are heavenly. Her shift started two hours after Connor's, due to the fact that she's one of the main chefs who prepare the food for the next day. Alice used to sneak Will foods, every other afternoon when he or Cecil was home. In the time where Will was trapped in the insane, chaotic era that is formally known as "Med School's Finals" - the time when he was too occupied by essays, reviews, and tests to be bothered to slither in the kitchen's door, Alice's foods were his motivation to live, since Cecil's exams were not much better, either. Before Will met and befriended Alice in an organization outside of college, and before he came to the realization that they live in the same apartment complex, all he and Cecil consumed in the final week were instant noodles and coffee - enough to retain them from the hand of Death and keep them alerted enough for testing.

 

Was that a hypocritical lifestyle for a med-student? Yes.

Did he have any other options? No. So there was that.

 

In return, Will was, and still is, a decent mentor to Alice as to how to survive college life away from home. What classes to take, how to survive with $2 in a span of a week, where and when to buy groceries, etc. That's also how he introduced Alice to the owner of the shop, and thus how she landed in this job for the summer. And then he has introduced Connor, a distant relative of Alice, who fortuitously was also about to work at the shop. Life is full of unexpected serendipity. Perhaps, there are hidden variables at play, tugging the cord of fate, just so that certain people are conditioned to meet at a specific point; that all encounters don't have to be filled with purport nor covert essence, yet there is a concrete basis upon which life accumulates its explanation. Everything happens for a reason, they said.

 

  
Furthermore, that statement ought to explain impeccably how Will had to cover one of his co-worker's midnight shift tonight. The call was made urgently; it was this afternoon, in the middle of his shift, when Mitchell had called Will to ask him to cover his shift tonight, breathily explained that one of his sisters landed herself in the emergency room after a road accident. Mitchell's breath was rapid as if he is about to enter a panic attack; he sounded like he was crying. Say what you might, but Will had known Mitchell long enough that he knows no matter how vulnerable the guy seemed, it was not easy for him to cry.

 

Will told him to stop worrying, that work is not his top priority right now; he accidentally slipped into his "doctor mode", the same way he did whenever one of his siblings started to freak out - Will told Mitchell to calm down, steadily told him to take a deep breath, walked him step-from-step to temporarily get his mind out of the chaotic situation. Close your eyes. Deep breath. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Remember that everything is going to be alright. Find something to occupy yourself. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

See, that was the perks of a medical student right there.

 

  
Still, back to the topic, "everything happens for a reason". An impetuous guy, texting while driving, slammed into Mitchell's sister's car. Mitchell was needed in the hospital. Will covered his shift. Somewhere else, Annabeth and Percy had just arrived at LA from Berkeley. They decided to go to their favorite restaurant in town. All seven of their close friends are invited. Nico included. After the dinner, Percy would suggest to go out for a karaoke night; it would spark up a voting session, in which the majority agreed (the vote was 6-3) to "go all out in the name of summer".

 

Thus, Will and Nico would meet again, in a span of twenty minutes, at a nearly impeccably identical situation, this time at the karaoke room six blocks across town.

 

Will entered the karaoke shop from the kitchen's door, flashed a small smile toward Lacy, immediately yet slowly explain why he had to cover for Mitchell's today. He then printed his thumb to the hour counter on the wall, a few feet away from the door he had just entered, watching Lacy continue to prepare some orders, flashed upon the small screen right next to her. All that was left to do is work; the first order on the board was two sets of combination chips and a disarray of randomly selected drinks, for room 420. A party of people, it seemed to Will. He decided to bring the chips up first.

 

 

Life is in no way a straight line of events and circumstances, but a trail that weaves in precise, discrete lines of situations into a united, conjoined blanket of occurrences. Separate lives budded from different stream, surged from their own wills as well as the pressure of the wind and the certain paths the Earth had traced eons ago; from the tiniest pebble to a mountainous boulder that diverged the water, there is a reason, a certain point that explains why the streams were made to cross; why salt lake meet sweet river, and why things happened the way they were. Streams collided, salt and minerals within, nonchalantly cascaded their blood toward the great, wide ocean. Perhaps that's what entropy really is about - lonesome essences entwined along the course of time, commingled into the inextricable amalgam of the ocean - of the universe, and of the course of time.

Thus, perhaps the most exiguous movement of air particles around a fragile butterfly wing could to an unforeseen possibility, too. Gushing an unlikely drop of water toward a different stream, for instance. Whatever the outcome, all would gravitate toward entropy - the grand final.

  
Call Will a dreamer, or comment that his head is always up on some cloud, whatever, but at least some drop of his water had soared miles across the great wide Earth to reach Nico's river; or maybe their junction was broader than he believed it to be.

 

 

Across the room that he had just entered, the same unfathomable Stygian orbs stared into his eyes yet once more, their pupils dilated in surprise. He looked much better in the span of three hours since Will last seen him - his hair pulled messily up from two sides into a half-bun, revealed his heavily pierced ears. It was still the exact same shirt he wore, the same old, beaten jeans and ridiculous red converse, yet somehow he seemed... even more attractive; if that was even possible.

 

Before any of the several people in this room can comprehend what was happening, three voices aired their revelation.

 

"Staring-Boy?" came from the blond man itself. At such an utterly startlingly unexpected moment, only the most perfervid impression could slider its way to his mouth

 

"Blond Barista?" - this time from said "Staring-Boy" himself; if this was in any other situation, the writer would have chided himself for such uncreativity.

 

"Will?" Now, this is a truly, exceptionally unforeseen scenario. At least from what he is aware of, not many of the customers should have known his name - least of all any from this shift. Unless Staring-Boy... Nico, he reminded himself, remember his name of told his friend. That doesn't explain how "Blond Barista" was his first response.

 

 

Will, and Nico, too, glanced toward the third voice. It was a girl Will barely recognized - bright, blonde hair in a neat ponytail; lustrous gray eyes, shining with intelligence and a tint of astonishment. She wore an old, slightly bleak orange shirt, the words on it almost unrecognizable.

 

"Annabeth?" Will squinted in disbelief, his voice narrowly escaped from his tongue "Wait... What? What are you doing here? Wait, that doesn't matter, you're a customer." Will blinked continuously for several times, his back straighten a bit, yet his mind entered a slightly panicking state that didn't allow his babbling to stop "How much of a coincidence is this? Why is he," Will pointed to Nico, "here with you? You guys know each other? Wait, that doesn't matter either. What I mean is that-"

 

"Solace," Annabeth said, her voice mingled with a breathy laugh "calm down. Gosh, you're just as how I remembered you were." Annabeth's curved her lips in a soft, nostalgic smile, her arms spread wide in an attempt to invite Will to a hug "Come here."

 

Will jerkingly moved toward her, his mind still quite blank, then hastily jumped into a hug. Somewhere around the room, a group of people cooed softly at the sight of them. Will, hands still wrapped around Annabeth's waist, tilted his head upward so that they were eyes-to-eyes, and continued speaking, much calmer and voice much gentler this time

 

"I thought you were staying in San Diego? You have friends in LA?" Annabeth laughed at how silly his question was, but let the boy continue "It has been, what, seven years since you left? The last time we met was at least three years ago!"

 

"Yes, silly. It's not like a 25 years old woman to move back and forth from here to New York every summer, is it ?" Annabeth smiled "Plus, I finished my Master's for years now, and I'm staying here. California, I mean."

 

"That's... good news." Will smiled.

 

Before he could continue, someone else voiced their thoughts "Hold up for a minute, so Annabeth knew Nico's crush? Personally?" There was a smacking sound immediately following the sentence.

 

"Yes, Jason, Annabeth and Will" another voice came up, from the seat closest to where Annabeth is standing, "were friends in some smart kid program she always told me about."

 

"Hey, Percy." Will glanced to the man that just spoke, his hands removed from Annabeth's waist to wave to him. Percy was slightly different from the time Will last saw him - tanner, more fit and muscular, yet his brilliant sea-green eyes and stylishly unkempt mop of black hair left an impression his memories. "Y'all doing alright, then? I still remember... you're going for Marine Biology?"

 

Percy stood up, "bro-hugged" Will - his arm draped around the younger man's shoulder "Exactly. Thanks to you for helping me passed... several questionable units of Biology." Percy smiled, genuinely, then completely pulled Will in for a bear-hug "You've grown so much."

 

Will tried not to notice a pair of onyx eyes studied him, the particular silence from him quite... more remarkable from the overall lack of sound.

 

"Good to see you, too." Will smiled "It's great and all, guys, but I really should head back to work. Gosh, what a coincidence, today."

 

"You're still no fun, dude. Always works and no play." Percy returned the smile, patting his back "Seriously though, we need to hang out together sometimes. I'm staying here for two weeks, just letting you know."

 

"It's still my work time, Percy." Will said, the sunlit smile still hasn't left "But sure, sometimes else." He was at the door now, flashing the last of his smile at another figure, then left.

Hopefully, no one had noticed how hard his heart was beating.

 

 

  
\------------

 

Nico knew this would come. Not the fact that Will had just entered the room to deliver their orders, but _this_. This exact moment. This particular interrogation.

 

 

"So," Piper, with her sweet, but stern and amused interrogative voice, sparked a conversation that everyone in this room was sure that sooner or later, would come up "Annabeth, you first."

 

"I'm first... what?"

 

"Don't play dumb, Wise Girl," Leo continued in Piper's place, the use of an old nickname made Annabeth squinted. "How did you met, say, Nico's Golden Boy?" The name resulted in a deadly glare from Nico, but it was worth it.

 

"It's a long story," Annabeth sighed "that is not convenient to speak of now, but let's just say that we were neighbor back in New York when I stayed with my Mom's sides and we... attended a few camps together."

 

"Smart kids' camps," Percy added helpfully.

 

"And you, Percy, also knew Will, because...?" This time, the question was from Frank, who had been quietly observed the situation from his corner of the room.

 

"Friends by association, if that makes sense." Percy casually answered "We met through Annabeth, then she asked him to tutor me in Biology. He rescued my dream major from my fear of Biology itself."

 

 

"And then," Hazel started, speaking in the exact rhythm this conversation is following "Nico, how did you know Will?"

 

"And what did he meant by 'Staring-Boy'?" Leo jumped, his excited voice follows Hazel's question just in time "And what did you meant by 'Blond Barista'? Is that all he is to you?"

 

"Leo, calm down." Piper said pleasantly, "Let our... main character speak."

 

Nico sighed in defeat. He considered shutting up and simply give them no answer, but both Jason and Reyna, whom he seated in between, nudged him. "Fine," he rolled his eyes "I knew Will because three hours ago, he was a barista at the coffee shop right across my apartment building. I've no idea why he called me 'Staring-Boy' and yes, that's all he is to me."

 

It pained him a little to just regard Will as that - a mere barista next door whose only identification to him is his dazzling blond hair. Or perhaps that's the reality, and his over-romanticized and melodramatic brain needs to get a grip on reality. This is life, and not a story whittled from his imagination that he could sculpt and carve into a perfect love story.

 

Alas, that's just it. The butterfly wings created a sandstorm somewhere, yet it was all that was about - a lone storm in a nameless, extraneous patch of deserted land, extinguished before it could alter the fate of any beings. Another unheard-of storm, dying prematurely amidst the continuous, neglecting wind of existence.

 

 

"Nico, you're sulking. Stop thinking of whatever painful metaphor you just made for your love life and start talking." Reyna's warm, brown eyes sternly, yet curiously stared at him, her gaze coaxed him to speak. _"I planned all of that for a reason."_ Her eyes seemed to say. As always, she is the one with the all-knowing eyes; none of his secret could writhe pass her vision, nor could any of his expressions seemed unreadable to her, albeit they remained a mystery to others' eyes. 

 

"The nickname is pretty self-explanatory. Let me guess, you found the guy so... utterly, extremely, out-of-the-wordly beautiful you just happened to stare at him and... blanked out?" Leo said, at some point made an effort to sound like a writer. Impressive for a man who pretty much gave up on literary books.

 

"Sounds like him." Jason solemnly nodded, "that also explains why he didn't flee immediately after buying the coffee."

 

"Ooo, someone's got it bad." Frank teasingly cooed; which looked kind of out-of-character for him, unless you belong to his group of endearing friends.

 

"No!" Nico yelled, his alabaster face turned rosy from embarrassment "It... it was just that I found inspirations for my story! That's it!" He crossed his arms to make an 'X', his flushed cheeks turn redder second by second "Completely not what you guys are thinking about."

 

"Your muse, then," Annabeth said, her eyes mischievously smiled.

 

"How romantic is that?" Hazel chimed in "A dark, eerie writer found his inspiration from... a sunlit boy next door."

 

"Coffee shop!AU, Writer!AU and of course, the classic contrasting-aura concept. If not also the "boy next door" cliché." Piper nodded in tune, explain the entire situation in her Piper-used-to-love-fanfiction-voice.

 

"The Earth is truly round. Two little boys I've known from separate situations and timeframe now become lovers." Percy dramatically remarked, then brought his hand up to wipe some imaginary tears "I've secured my best man seat in your wedding."

 

"Now you just pause for a minute..." Nico was scandalized, "We barely knew each other..."

 

"Oh, why, di Angelo," Piper's voice was tauntingly frolicsome "You two blatantly gorged up each other with your eyes..."

 

"... Not to mention that poor William was utterly fluttered and would have been nervous rambling to no end at the sight of you until Annabeth came to his rescue." Hazel continued, in an impeccable sync with Piper.

 

"Classic guess, Haze, but that's not what Will's name was short for," Annabeth smiled playfully "And of course, how could any of us miss how intense your gaze was when we talked to Will?"

 

"Guys, I think that's enough for now," Frank amicably said, trying to interrupt the conversation so that Nico could breathe - bless his honorable soul, "let Nico dreams about his man in peace." Frank jokingly beamed. Scratch that, these impish individuals had tainted him.

 

"But seriously," Reyna laughed, enjoyed the entire show without much input "Get on with the fun. Nico's heart has its limit. Don't want him to sulk the entire night, do we?"

 

Reyna's words were final, even though Frank's comment would have made also a nice ending. Percy, ever the mischievous mastermind, bring forth some random, cheesy song about first love. Way to cheat the system, Jackson.

 

Though Nico was glad for the teasing to stop, maybe his heart had circled a little unhappily, too, when their drinks arrived but not with Will.

 

Whatever, he said. Infatuation is one of those that he is familiar with. Sometimes, they are just like butterfly wings.

 

Fragile. Ephemeral. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this!!  
> This chapter seemed a bit too long-winded and babbling-like to me, but I really wanted to hint some depth into both of our characters... Especially Will in this character, though, since I'm letting him be the star for today lmao.  
> I really, really appreciate your effort to comment on this fic, since I depends on your support for motivation for writing this hahaha.
> 
> Also, fun fact: The excerpts from Nico's writing is actually parts of my biggest project to be (yes it's about utopia). I'm in the process of creating a universe for it and working on strengthen the plot line as of this moment :))
> 
> I really love you guys haha


	4. One Step Back and Eight Steps Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of reminiscence from Nico, and Percy's advice that would bring the shy flowers closer.
> 
> \----
> 
> "...all you need to do is take one step back. Then sprint forward. It's that kind of problem that you can solve that way. Prepare yourself, say "fuck it", then run."

Yet, the first deed Nico did that afternoon after he had woken up, was to timidly march to The Flying Ship for an espresso macchiato. There would never exist such a tremendous embarrassment that would prevent him from scoring a delightful coffee treat.

 

"His shift is from 3 to 11 pm, Nico. Throughout the week except for Thursday and Friday." Jason's vehement yet casual tone echoed his mind. Seriously, why does everyone assume he was coming to the shop just to see Will?

 

Nonetheless, Jason's words reminded him flawlessly the details of last night's conversations. With the "s", thus, intrinsically meant every conversation that happened that night. All of them. And just as that, a particular event of last night enacted upon his mind yet again.

 

\------

Percy, ever the airhead he was, decided to visit LA one day before their previously-set schedule without notifying their hotel. Thus, his brilliant solution was to crash at Nico's place for the night.

 

"Just one night, Nico." Percy grinned, his face seemed acutely invitingly punch-able.

 

Why?

 

\- Hazel, Piper and Reyna's place: That would be awkward.

\- Leo and Frank's place: That would be awkward. (plus, no one beside Leo himself should be subjected to the agonizing torment that is staying in Leo's room.)

 

It was hereby concluded by "The Lord of All-Water Bodies" Percy Jackson that "the boys" should have their own bro-night; an extremely, utterly straight portrayal of a "male-only" sleepover - as if they were five again, thus suddenly "cooties" once more became the most cogent argument to have a gender-secluded overnight. Still, so to speak, whatever Percy himself had conserved on the boat that paddles him through the merciless tide of mortality, his frivolous tendency duly reserved its place. "Be positive, because life won't do that for you", he used to say, the shit-eating grin adorned his somber orbs; that day, the sea-green gemstones misplaced their luster. Nevertheless, Percy seemed to got his life together now - much, much better than the troubled days of his forsaken past.

 

Fortunately for the sea-eyed man, Annabeth seemed to understand his childish elation over a more tight-knit reconnection with his boys. Fairly speaking, she loved having this occasion for a private night for her little girls, too. Percy and Annabeth had always duly assumed the role as the group's solicitous older siblings; that it is their Holy Duty to protect everyone else in their rowdy little group, to give out advice, support and patronage their little siblings. Truth to be told, the immediate roles fell into their hold simply because they were the oldest; though Nico suspects that it doesn't even matter, for not long after, as Reyna joined the group being the only person that is as old as Percy and Annabeth, she's still only... the "second-in-command" (albeit she does a fine job of keeping everyone in check, still, and is mightily reliable). In addition, Percy is the mellow, nonchalant jokester, particularly loved to overindulge everyone else in the group, while Annabeth unhesitatingly assumed the mantle of the stern, disciplined yet sympathetic leader. Still, that does not make Percy an immature, annoying sibling nor Annabeth the austere, mundane mom - they are both capable of pliability, thank you very much - and from time to time, Percy is more capable of implementing certain orders, while there are personal secrets could only be heard by Annabeth. They make a nonpareil, ideal pair of protective parent that none of them ever had. In turn, "the children" make sure their "lovely parents" overexert themselves as little as possible, while often reminding them of how dependable these "little kids" had grown up to be - that after all, they are peers and should be enjoying each other's company and not a burdensome responsibility. After all those time that had passed, wasn't it nice to have a night together for unrestrained nostalgia and catching up?

 

Or maybe they (all of them) were just agog about Nico's love lives.

 

See, when he previously stated that Percy decided "to crash at Nico's place for the night", all just assumed that only Percy, and perhaps Annabeth, were staying over. No. Everyone was going to stay over. The only gender-exclusive detail was the bedroom separation. All of them. All seven of them, plus the homeowner, Jason and Nico, were staying in his apartment. (The sole vindication was that his apartment is apparently the largest and that they could all cram in easily. For extra warmth. It did not matter that this was summer.)

 

Thus, as the other five residents of LA rushed back to their house for their personal items, Annabeth and Percy followed Jason's car back to their apartment in Percy's beaten up, blue minivan. The guy was so in love with his "Bessie" that even though he was no longer an impecunious college student, he refused to purchase a new car. Annabeth, in the same boat with Percy, couldn't care less if Bessie looked as if she could break down any seconds - Annabeth knew how stable the car engine was, despite its rusted hood and peeled, discolored patches of paint (thanks to that one video call with Leo). Besides, countless of their joyous memories had featured Bessie, so much that she had become such a remarkable presence.

 

As much as Nico would like to mull over Bessie the Blue minivan for the sake of avoiding a conversation, Percy's voice - followed a thump of him casually dropped on the couch, resonated in his ears

 

"So, about Will Solace."

 

"Who?"

 

"'Blond Barista'" - Percy said, his voice light, his point- and middle finger curved repeatedly from both his hand, making two virtual quotation marks.

 

"Oh." Nico's eyes slightly widened for several seconds, then return to its initial state. He was not really used to Will's last name, yet. "What is there to say about him?"

 

"Well..." Percy looked hesitated for a second; licked his lips in faint discomfiture, the oceans in his eyes glanced away from Nico, fleetingly traveled in a detour around the apartment "I'm... glad for you?" The man's genuine tone rose slightly as if he was uncertain if the words had lifted out of his throat correctly; if the messages they were supposed to deliver was innocuously couriered. "For both of you, really. Even if you guys are just going to be friends."

 

"What do you mean?" Nico habitually cocked his head to the side in perplexity, his eyes straitened

 

"I mean whatever I just said. Genuinely." Percy leaned backward, his bronze-laved, muscular arms supported his athletic silhouette. A sigh sneaked out of his lips, just to melded away with the atmosphere "From when we've met, Nico... you've grown, a lot."

 

Percy's words certainly mustered the memories to slither up from their graves; memories that Nico tried so desperately to inhume, to enshroud, to better yet slaughtered and burned into ashes, to be blusted away as dandelion's wings. They were grotesque recollections that engulfed the light of much, much more jubilant ones; like an insatiate beast of gloom that fathomlessly craves for raptures, just for the sake of emptying one's sentiments. As wretchedly he hoped for them to wither away and succumbed away into his wills and deteriorate into embers, they didn't. Most of the time, those ghosts were lost into their slumber, lured into abandoning their existence, yet, they are there. Their existences are always subconsciously registered. They always are, their claws clenched fiendishly into his minds in their rest, refused to be forgotten. Even if they leave, Nico mused, the deformity they left and the scars they bruised upon him will always be there, carved in remembrance of his most ruinous memories. Never forget, they would say. Never forget the pain. He was so far away from those days now - farthest ever, every second that he was living, yet, eternally, he was afraid that one misstep would fail him; even one mistake would demolish the mountain he built so meticulously, let him fall into the grasp of despair once more. An angel, fallen into perdition, only to have risen in exultation, yet forevermore encumbered with the burden of the devil's graze on his tattered, bleeding feathers.

 

Nico must have zoned-out for a while, since Percy's arm was now draped across his shoulder, his eyes closed. He knew Nico doesn't want anyone to stare in moments like this. Jason was in his own room, tidied up the space, while Annabeth was in the shower. The road upon which they bonded was definitely not the most pleasant one - hellfire and bone scattered perhaps, but certainly not peebles for struggles and rainbow chimed with roses for decoration. If anyone, Percy and Annabeth's experiences are the closest it would ever get to Nico's - there is a reason why they are his closest friend, rivaled only by the mother-hens Jason and Reyna.

 

"A lot certainly had happened..." Nico's voice was light, given up to the strength of the air, his sentenced trailed away, dissolved.

 

"I'm glad you got to where you are now. Very, very, extremely glad." The sound that writhered out of Percy's lips was faint and gentle, lest it scares a kitten, "You, out of every soul on this Earth, deserve a chance of pursuing your happiness. So don't dare let anyone," them, the monsters, "tell you otherwise.

 

"I know this kind of courage is different from whatever kind of bravery it took you to survive before this. It's gonna be strange," Percy paused, momentarily lost in his nostalgic wander "but... all you need to do is take one step back. Then sprint forward. It's that kind of problem that you can solve that way. Prepare yourself, say "fuck it", then run."

 

"Is that the same way with swimming? Is that how you got the experience?" The raven boy smiled, his glint in his eyes soften.

 

"Yeah." Percy grinned, too, full-force. "And dating. That's where most of it came from, seeing that now you got someone you want to court."

 

"I don't know, Percy." Nico tipped back and sighed "I barely knew him, and... this stuff with 'love at the first sight', I don't really believe it."

 

"At one point, there will an epiphanic moment when your views on life shatter." A pause, "Maybe, that's now."

 

Nico's voice didn't stir. Perhaps that was because his mind refused to speak, his brain has yet to decipher what's next to say. Was he afraid? Of daring to love, soaring into another battle in the justice of affection; daring to welcome the injuries in the hope of rejoicing exultantly in the arms of a lover, to risk finding out his voyage was pointless?

 

"It's not a battle, Nico." Annabeth's voice ringed. She stepped out of the shower in a short, navy pajamas "Love does not have to be."

 

"Like I said, maybe start as friends, first." Percy gently uttered, "That would work better... for both of you." His eyes were hinted with some glassiness, the pause in the middle of his sentence showed recollection in his mind.

 

Nico was afraid. Yes. He was afraid. Of falling in love again, of hurting himself again. Afraid that his love life was forever cursed. Wasn't the first step toward bravery is to admit your fear? There, a bud of courage sparked its first light, coruscate against the pit of his stomach. Perhaps, perhaps he has the grit to step ahead, after all.

 

The fire in his mind must have glistered its gleam onto his esoteric eyes, for Percy and Annabeth squeezed his hand, a gentle, satisfying smile blossomed on the corner of their mouth.

 

"Hey! I brought video games! And the game controller!" Leo's energetic voice beamed, every consonant heavily indented the air despite the spatial separation, and also, the oak door.

 

"I'm going to destroy you at Mario Kart." Nico stood up, glared mischievously with a side of threatening at Percy before walked toward the door to welcome Leo and Frank in.

 

"I am surely up for a challenge," Percy smirked.

 

"Leo, be quieter, would you, it's almost 2 am." Frank sternly scold-whispered his fiery roommate, four game controllers in his arms.

 

Tonight was going to be a good one, Nico smiled.

 

\-------------

The gaming, talking and playing stopped at around 6 am. All of the graduates were still familiar with the sensation of sleepless nights, although last night was filled with funs and chatters instead of essays and projects.

 

Most of them were still asleep, except for Jason, Frank and of course, Nico. He decided to enjoy his cup of coffee in peace before any of his friends would awake.

 

The bronze bell ringed as he pushed the door open, casually walking into the shop. It was Tuesday afternoon, voided of much presence.

 

"Welcome to The Flying Ship... Hey, it's you again!" Nico glanced toward the counter, just as yesterday, the same golden locks and boundless sky danced in his sight. "What would you like to order for today?"

 

"One expresso macchiato, no sugar, with extra cream." Nico smirked, even though he felt the need to sprint away, then glimpsed toward the glass refrigerator, looking for a new sweet "Plus, one raspberry cheesecake."

 

"All right, Nico." Will grinned, his cheery expression washed with even more merriment at the sound of Nico's name "That would be $13.40."

 

One step back. Nico tried to remind himself. Just one step back, then their entire dance would begin.

 

Their hands touched as they exchange bills for coins and treats.

 

Not yet - a voice in him coaxed his nervousness, not letting the rehearsed dancers of words in his mouth enter the stage. Not yet.

 

Followed its command, Nico let himself retreated back to his seat, the same one from yesterday, the area surrounded it empty. He pulled his phone out and opened the draft for his writing. Productivity is ever the most methodical excuse against human interaction, his cowardice reasoned. Just like that, Nico tried to distract himself, yet to no avail; as if his usually matured mind abruptly metamorphosed into that of a child, eager to escape the hold of its patron just to run toward the glass display of a toy store, its puppy eyes begging for a treat. His brain buzzed with a multitude of scenario, an infinite train filled with words and sentences he could have said to Will.

 

He decided to look around, once more, seeking for details that he might have had missed from yesterday. ADHD is not a pleasant child if one forced it to stare into a white, blank screen, forcing it to produce coherent, sincere meaning. His brain demanded to be free of the blinding light in front of its eyes; his onyx orbs again dancing across the space, twinkles of fluorescent bulbs embellished its fathomless background, like distant stars ornamented the sight of Earth's heaven.

 

The wall was yellow. A white cloud, painted on the wall was graffitied with tiny smiley faces in one of its lower corners. One yellow post-it note was placed mysteriously high on the wall. A table at the corner furthest to his eyesight cradled five books, all had yellow covers. Nico shifted his focus to the music. It was a pop song, but not in English. The language seemed quite familiar. Has he heard of this language before? Better yet, why was this song - the rhythm, the bass, the way the lyrics sounded - so recognizable?

 

"Is that... AKB48?" Nico realized, too late, that the thoughts edged out of the corner of his mouth

 

"What?" Will tilted his head back to him, the cup of coffee still was held in his palm

 

"The song. Is that AKB48?"

 

"You know AKB48?" Will's voice sounded incredulously astounded. The way he emphasized on the word "know" and the way his voice pitched at the name of the band was almost comical; and if not for Nico's remarkable skill of controlling his expression, a hilariously impertinent laugh would sprout from his lips.

 

"My friend used to blast this stuff every single day when we drive in his car. He used almost all of his salary that month to vote for his 'oshimen' in what... Ss...Sso..?" Nico squinted, his hand raised up, palm open, fingers curled dramatically. He never had the skill to pronounce the word.

 

"Sousenkyo. Yeah, I know about that." Will grinned, jokingly continue "Only from that and you recognize the rhythm everywhere?"

 

"Well, now that you would blast them every day in the shop, my brain would never be able to get rid of it." He was glad that this joyous, ordinary feat is what his brain would forever register. Perhaps, this moment would be, too, for eternity.

 

Out of the corner of his pondering, he saw Will's timid smile, a faint blush bloomed his cheek. He remembered what the aforementioned friend - Percy - used to say about liking such an unheard of group, ("To be fair, they were only not well-known in the West!" Percy protested) that the sensation when simply hearing someone complimenting the music was heavenly; meeting someone that recognizes the music was something... out of this world. The thought made Nico's stomach fluttered as well; a benign feeling bloomed in his chest - the petals of delight made the air inside his lungs hitched.

 

It was certainly pleasant to see Will's smile; it was as if the early morning light had rooted its aura from the boy's jollity - warm, congenial and delightful for the eyes. It was the natural lightning that compassionately shines its glow and spread the warmth to the beings of the Earth. It was the light that paints a pale gold glaze upon the grey, passionless concrete, the glitter that turn the water into liquified shatters of glass, the embellishments that adorn every sight, justly beautified life for every being's enjoyment. It was the background of an amused painter's masterpiece, the final key that graces an orchestral piece, and the soil upon which a writer described his muse-

 

"Nico, your order is done!" Will beamed, the last note lengthened into a melodious sound.

 

Nico snapped away from his daydream, disconcertingly realized that he had stared intensely at the boy again. He jerked up, tried to steadily clutch into his cups of coffee and the cheesecake dish. Nico could felt the amused gaze of Will projected onto his entire being, then, as if the boy's gape became itchy caress upon his back, Nico looked up, determined to stare intimidatingly into Will's eyes.

 

Which was a bad, horrible, foolish, idiotic idea, because Will's miniature sunshine grin defeated his capability to control his expression again. Somehow that smile was even cuter, more endearing and lovely - but Nico did not let himself plunged into the poetic pit again in favor of his coffee; though it hinted bits of intentionality and teases as if Will knew that Nico would make a fool of himself as long as Will smiles. Which is quite of correct, but the idea nonetheless is devilish and impish.

 

Yet, the idea of Will's puckish side just made him even more... attractive?

 

At this point, Nico was already halfway to his seat; thus, fortunately, kept his crimson cheeks hidden from Will. Still, he considered turning back. His whole purpose of being here was... to restart. One step back, then sprint ahead. Simple, right? But again, Nico pondered, there is no way such a scrawny, sedentary person like him could run, or doing remotely any athletic activity. Maybe ten, or better yet, eight steps would do?

 

Right. One step back, then eight step ahead. Seven is a magical number.

 

Nico placed his treat on the table. The plastic-mantled piece of wood was pristinely clean, strokes of dried fluid were revealed through the gleam of sunlight at a precise angle.

 

One step back. Nico stepped away from the table, his chin tilted up, stared directly into the street outside. There was an obnoxiously bright orange car behind his reflection in the glass.

 

One step forward. He turned, his gaze directed at Will, who was cleaning random utensils in the sink.

 

Two steps forward. He headed the counter. The lower corner of his eyes slightly squinted upward, as if the fluorescent lights were blinding.

 

Three steps forward. His pale, defined hands reached toward the other man. Nico's palm touched the minimal biceps on Will's arms. The blond man tilted himself over, surprise deluged his cerulean orbs.

 

Four steps forward. Nico began to speak:

 

"Hey, about yesterday..."

 

Five steps forward. Here come the replies:

 

"It's okay, you know, I'm not working that shift permanently. And if you want to talk about Percy and Annabeth, well-"

 

Six steps forward. Nico directed the conversation toward where he wanted it to be:

 

"They kind of told me what I needed to know. But... well, I don't come here just to talk about them." His voice was astonishingly steady

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"I mean, if, you know, yesterday was awkward, with the crushing statement and such... I'm... well..." This is harder than he previously thought. The next words were extremely faint and airy "... I'm... sorry?"

 

"Dude," Will's breathy laugh escaped his lung "All I did yesterday was talking to some old friends. I don't mind the joking and such. Your friend must mean well." Maybe, just as his aura, this boy was extremely optimistic and carefree.

 

"I just," Will paused, scratching the back of his neck "I just wanted to, well, restart this. Do this the right way."

 

Will tilted his head sideways, like a puzzled puppy, which is cute, in addition to the way his eyes slightly narrowed, leaving the azure sky void of any reflected light.

 

"I'm Nico. Nico di Angelo." Nico extended his hand, his eyes closed for a second, just slightly longer than a blink. He breathed out in contentment; finally, he got the words out the right way.

 

"Oh" Will's pupil widened, the surprise quickly hidden beneath his sunlit dimple "I'm Will. Will Solace."

 

Seven steps forward. Will stretched his arm, still damped by the water in the sink; his palm was cool and drenched of a chemical smell when it touched Nico's. A timid smile, fondled with courage colored Nico's lips. The bravery was continued through Will's smile.

 

Eight steps forward. Will make a joke

 

"Hi, welcomes to Chili's."

 

"What? That's way out of context."

 

"What is humor with context? Lame."

 

"Yeah, but somehow your out-of-context joke was even lamer."

 

"Well, not as lame as you staring at me whenever I smiled."

 

"What-"

 

Will's laughter echoed the shop. Echoed the world. Echoed in Nico's memories, now and forever beyond the grasp of time. Like a bronze bell whose ring is heard all around a small, peaceful town; but more eternal and its sound more private - belonged alone to the boys whose color contrast yet harmoniously commingled into a masterpiece.

 

Should there be a ninth step forward? Perhaps not, because they already reached their destination: the start of an abstract pulchritude. Friendship. Love.

 

"Well, not as lame as you babbling your head off yesterday." Nico continued. "And plus, why listen to AKB48 when Perfume's music is superior."

 

Yes, of course, of course, they reached the aforementioned glamorous destination.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm back!
> 
> Btw, please don’t be mad at the Perfume - AKB48 comparison, it was suppose to signal the start of the boys’ bickering phase and as you see, I’m a huge fan of both group (my username is a 48G's member last name lmao).  
> Uncle Rick mentioned that Nico likes techno-pop, so why not?


	5. Seven Steps Toward Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A phone call. Sometimes the mention of "family" is not always about warmth and happiness. But perhaps pain are also beautiful, and stories are better at expressed an author's mind than spoken words.
> 
> \------
> 
> "Unconsciously, Will's palm reached the other's trembling hand, the quiver so negligible that it was almost impossible to felt. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 taps. A pause. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, again. The steady rhythms gave them something to focus on."
> 
> "Her mind suddenly drifted toward the steady beat of Phoebe’s fingers against her skin."

It was Wednesday. Good ole ordinary Wednesday, who endearingly visits every week only to leave in the span of twenty-four hours; just as an old friend that seemed to be ageless in that her existence is unforgettable. Perhaps, it was because her visit is periodical and frequent, that the same sanguine signal followed her voyage: the next day was his "weekend". He loves his work schedule in that his holidays are two days before other most of others'; especially in that the aspect that everywhere he visits are usually void of the crowd - as everyone else is hard at work, he gets his meritorious break. Coffee shops are sprinkled with scarcely a crowd, the pastries at the bakery are more punctiliously made, the silent air of the library circulates more gently. Yet, best of all, he could use the excuse "But it's not the weekend!" to stay inside and "be productive", as he preferred to describe the seemingly dull and insipid activity of working on his school works.

 

All right, so perhaps he only loved Wednesday because technically it was equivalent to normal people's Friday, but what difference would it make? Why couldn't he still rightfully wax poetry about his favorite day of the week?

 

Still, to be fair, the last time he dares to portray his day as ordinary or habitual, an utterly momentous event happen: an unreservedly charming man stepped through The Flying Ship's door, eyes fixated at his face. Will Solace might or might not felt ardor blossomed within his ludicrously earnest heartbeat. The other guy - Will reminded himself not to get ahead of himself - might or might not reciprocate such ardent desire. Nonetheless, they befriended; the guy even recognized Will's favorite band! The idea seemed absurd in the past - like a fantasy that kept replaying in his head instead of jumping out and transform into reality. And now, it finally came true. Not just the "recognizing his favorite music" part - the entire ordeal seemed fantastically dreamlike.

 

Nonetheless, he loves the normalcy of life - the unremitting beat of motion and activity, the perpetual cycle of monochromatic daylight and kaleidoscopic bulbs enlightens the city, the perennial tidal masquerade of the waves - that were law-abiding and sober, yet its heart was sculpted by enchantment, the sleeves still the fabric of charm. Its tricks are just illusions cloaked under its velvety pretense mayhaps, yet what is life but conundrums and secrets? In the regularity of life, the magic is kept to the minimum and logic dominated, most of the time, though, with his mind deluded by its steady, conciliating rhythm, Will won't recognize any hidden variables installed in place. Just as this instance, was it logical or was it magical that Kayla and Austin called him, together, urgently, in the middle of his shift? Especially if he weighted in numerous, countless elements involved

 

"No, Kayla. As I  _ emphasized _ , again and again," Will huffed, his eyes comically widen and his eyebrows raised in desperate exasperation - the emphasis on the word "emphasized" weighted like an annoyed grunt "We're not dating. We're friends."

 

"Good grief, William," Will could practically hear the noise of Austin's eyes rolling in its socket; the boy has made an irksome habit of calling him every possible name that could be shortened into "Will" - except for his actual name, of course, just for the sake of ticking off the older brother; "Sure, just a friend, you know, who came to the shop every single day since the day he practically eat you up by his eyes, that blushes and dumbfoundedly stare everytime you pull up your sunshine smile, and..." Nothing good would ever come out, every time Austin did such dramatic pause "... a friend sooooooo important that you couldn't help talking about him with Drew every single day."

 

Will could hear Kayla whistling from another end, but perhaps Will's choking noise was even louder - yet neither of those actually helped to amplify the situation, honestly, for the rosiness in Will's cheeks had already gone blood-red five minutes ago, since the first mention of Nico. His gauche "That's not how it is..." barely came out as a suffocated whisper.

 

"Oh, Will. Oh,  _ Will _ ," Kayla had snatched the phone from Austin's hand, it seemed, her voice theatrically deriding "Finally, don't you see, Austin," she turned to the "sport-announcer" voice now "Our most gracious, devoting, work-a-holic single-mom had found the love of his life now, in his workplace. A coffee shop, you say? What kind of romantic K-drama is this? How much shoujo manga material is loaded into this love-life?-"

 

"Sickeningly cliché is it,  _ my dudess _ , yet so heartwarming," Austin added in his two cents in the background

 

"An overworked mother found her hope in love again after seeing a handsome man in black? Oh goodness, I understood why Drew was so hyped-"

 

"Now, pause for a second, would you-" Will pleaded

 

"You know what she said, Wilfred?" Austin's enthusiastic voice came on crystal clear, from either extreme shouting or regained control of the phone, "'Oh my gawd, haven't you children heard? Will was absolutely smitten, I'm telling you. That unromantic boy  _ finally _ sounded like he is capable of scoring himself a boyfriend.'" It, apparently, didn't matter that Drew was one of his closest friends, seeing that Austin had no problem ridiculing her voice with his absurdly sweet mocking-tone. Kayla's laughing noise was stifled from Austin's end.

 

"Drew told y'all all of this?"

 

"Of course, she's... well, our most trusted secret agent out there." Kayla was back on the phone now, practicing her "government-official" voice.

 

"But, seriously, Wilston," As always, Austin's tone turned solemn, his maturity found its way to outshine his mischievous-loving facet, "Take your chance, dude, I couldn't care less about how slow it's gonna be. Be friend first, then close friend, then best friend, whatever. You finally quit over-worrying about us and get out of this town-"

 

"That was five years ago, Austin-"

 

"And you're still a worrywart." Kayla's joined in, her voice earnest, "And I know that you'll always be, Will. But, gods, just... stop. Don't tire yourself out because of us. We're not kids 

anymore."

 

"I'm overdue for being an adult now, Will." Everytime Austin called Will by his actual alias, the conversation became genuinely heartfelt. That sentence was not new - in fact, lately, it seemed that their conversation would always head toward this direction.

 

"Plus, I'm going to university next fall, Will. There's absolutely no need for you to worry about us, both economically and, well... everything else-y." Kayla tried to assure him, the words started as solemnly yet became light-hearted, almost humorous, at the end "Just, take care of yourself. Medical school is a fucking mess, so at least try to enjoy your summer..."

 

"Summer, you say, hm?" Will absentmindedly muttered, his eyes pensively gaze over the street outside. A brooding sense of vagueness engulfed his thought; like a hazy, misty cloth, it suddenly overpowered his eyesight, turning the scenery outside the window distant and detached from his reality, his own universe. For an unknown reason, if there is actually any, the idea of "summer" seemed such a faraway reverie, as if the word deepened in itself a concealed, abstract meaning besides a name of a season. Not necessarily anything that could be associated with summer - the minuscule waves of the butterfly inside his gut was a notional feeling - it wasn't the beach, the heatwave, the ambrosial smell of fruits, nor was it the rush of vacation. That's to be said, there was a hint of liberty in such feeling (No, it was not related to the Fourth of July), not the freedom from the hellscape that is medical school, the freedom from the responsibility of an adult, nor freedom from any physical constraint. It was more of that his heart is free - unbound from any burden, from the invisible weight that he has no idea why, when, and how it got there.

 

Still, that was just a reverie - a daydream he could sacrifice time to live in, yet, nonetheless, it was anything but a minute of his soul wandering outside of this realm.

 

"Yeah, Will, and you should come back home sometimes-" Will realized that he must have spaced out for a pretty long while, as the conversation had spiraled out of his mind yet again. Before he could panic and try to follow up on the dialogue, the familiar chimes resonated, pushed through the air and rushed toward his eardrums, for the fourth time in his shift. Which was not a lot, but one had to consider that today was, again, still a weekday. Out of a corner of his eyes, a familiar strand of messy, charcoal hair casually bounded its way into the shop. "-expensive, but Minnie missed you a lot-"

 

"Listen, kids, I would love to keep talking and listening to y'all complaining about my lack of presence at home, and I'm honestly very sorry about that, but right now I'm still in my shift and-"

 

"Did Nico just come in? I swear I heard the bell rings!"

 

"It's definitely Nico, isn't it?" Kayla excitedly followed, then unceremoniously shouted, the phone still directly in his ears "HEY, NICO! HOW ARE YOU DOING WILL LOVES TALKING ABOUT YOU SO MU-

 

"Bye!" Will briskly shouted a curt goodbye to the phone, which was clutched tightly by two hands, the screen shined its light directly in front of his mouth - the immediate result of having Kayla's booming voice aimed toward his myringa. How he hoped the kid hasn't announced her presence aloud from the phone for the entire West Coast to aware. How he hoped Drew hasn't told them about his new friend. How he hoped he hasn't told anyone about said person.

 

And oh, how he hoped, dearly, desperately, perilously hoped - because this is one wish in which time-traveling is not involved - that whoever just stepped into to shop (he knew it was Nico, but-) has not paid enough attention nor their hearing was not so exemplary that every single word that bounced out of his phone was heard. Gods, he hasn't even put his phone on speaker.

 

Still, before he had time to reconsider about every decision he took in his twenty-three pathetic years of exchanging oxygen through the trillions of cells in his body, his obligation toward this job made him tilted his head up and look at the individual that has been so promptly ignored, despite the fact that they had been here for at least three minutes, and probably just hoped for a nice cup of coffee, and not his personal nor familial information. As he expected, Nico di Angelo, his new friend - f.r.i.e.n.d - stood awkwardly in front of the counter, his lean, tiny figure forced him to tilt slightly upward toward the barista. Before Will had time to dreamily gazing over the guy's drastically improved appearance - suddenly, it seemed as if he hadn't had enough time for frankly, anything, lately - a curbed giggle wriggled it way out, through the crevices of Nico's healthily defined, lean and elegant fingers. His eyes curved into crescents, the moonlit surface dotted with the same tenebrous iris, now illumined by the warmth his smile radiated. Was it atypical for Nico's facade to be inundated and enlightened by a sheer jubilant curve of his lips? Will catched himself asking, for how divine and beauteous the other man's joy seemed, the sight graciously, tacitly extricated his soul from pure allure. The melody of his laugh did nothing to lure Will's back from his cherry-blossomed reverie; the angelic harmony danced around his ear, fleetingly fondled his hearing just to dissolved into air. The stifled noise was nonetheless childish and gay, faithful to the depiction that was of a cherub giggling at an embarrassing sight; which is quite accurate, if the rising warmth in Will's cheeks and his ridiculous position whilst held the phone was anything to go by.

 

"Now, who is the lame one, staring at the other's smile?" Nico smiled yet again, his lips curved into more of a teasing smirk

 

At this point, Will didn't even bother looking for a retort. He had felt the blood rushing to his face, more clearly this time. The only course of action his brain registered was to jerkily straighten his frame, hastily slam his phone into the counter, hope that the screen won't crack, and hopelessly directed his stare elsewhere - anywhere but the exuberant sight that is Nico di Angelo.

 

"Wo... wh... what would you like to o... order... today?" He finally breathed out, the supposedly monotonous greeting got stuck on the roof of his mouth

 

"The usual, if you please." Nico smirked again, this time even more devilishly pretty "So, what was that whole... staring ordeal about?"

 

"Can't imagine, finally, it came, the day somebody casually said 'the usual, please.'" Will ironically wiggled his head side to side. He heard the second comment about the "staring ordeal", yet had elected to ignore it.

 

"Uh huh, and it's sure to stay for a while." The smirk still hadn't left Nico's lips "Was that your sibling?"

 

"Sure. Whatever. What kind of diabetes-inducing treats would you like today?"

 

"Oh, I'm pretty sure that wasn't something you ought to say as an employee here." Nico glanced toward the glass display "Mango cheesecake, please. At least I'm going to get the fruit required in my diet at once."

 

"Moral obligation as a medical student, if you don't mind." Will smiled. "That would be $13.67."

 

Nico handed him the cash, his olive-skin warm and slightly sweaty, "Sure, but right now you're still a barista. Gotta enjoy your summer without such... obligation."

 

"Who knows, it already invaded my bloodstream." Will handed him back the coins. Nico left for his usual table, bounced jejunely on the ball of his feet, obsidian irises still rested on Will's face

 

"Maybe lame-ness and boredom had, too, you know. Lucky for us this isn't a Starbuck, or else someone would have to decipher your handwriting."

 

"Ha, ha, funny little jokester, you truly are." Will rolled his eyes, hands moved to make the macchiato that his muscles had grown to be familiar with.

 

"See, at least I don't have lame replies to jokes."

 

"Oh, see, that's because my so-called 'lame replies' are at least humorous enough for everyone to be able to generate a decent reply." Will's eyes were fixed on the cup of coffee, for which he regretted not being able to observe the other man's immediate facial responses.

 

"If you need to believe so in order to console yourself, go ahead." Nonetheless, Will could imagine Nico dramatically rolled his eyes, again. "Still, you haven't answered my question: Was that your sibling?"

 

"Yeah, both of them were on the phone, really, but lucky for my ears and dignity that only one of them has the nerve to yell." Will's mind drift about what image should he draw today for Nico's cup

 

"Bold of you to assume that you have any left after that shout, though." A fox, maybe. A sassy, milky white fox. Perhaps he would let the coffee blend-in enough for the fox to had brown fur.

 

"Bold of you to assume that you still have any, quoting a meme."

 

"Hey, one got to catching up with slangs these days, you know. Unlike some cranky old person."

 

"Whatever ya say, tiny." Will glanced toward the said person, who already brought out his laptop and seemingly about to start typing

 

"Sure, William, I noticed the floors up there is at least five inches taller than the ground."

 

Will didn't even bother to correct the name, "I mean, the last time we met outside of this shop, you were still shorter than me."

 

"Shut your trap, Wilston, I was sitting down." It seemed like Nico somehow knew about the fact that his name really was not William (Will blamed Annabeth. Wasn't she the only one who could disclose that information?) and as of now, just tried to use random names to get a response out of him. Will couldn't stop his laughter this time; he let loose the airy, funny laugh from his lungs. "Why are you laughing?"

 

"Nothing, just that you're playing the exact game my little brother is playing. Except that he actually knows my name, and just want to mess around." The brief laughter died off, yet its corpse remained in the form of a smile on Will's lips.

 

"Oh."

 

"And to give more details on your questions. Yes, I have two younger siblings. One male and one female," Will might or might not forget to mention his two older brothers, but that's a story to be developed in later days. A half-covered truth, in this situation, for Will was not a lie. "His name is Austin, and her name, the one that was shouting, is Kayla."

 

"A handful, they seemed." Nico ruminated

 

"Well, generally speaking, they're good kids. But yeah, the pranks drove me insane sometimes. Lovely kids, nonetheless." Sometimes, it concerned him how much of a mom he sounded like - how much of a mom he was to them in the absence of their mother; but he didn't utter anything. It wasn't time, yet. "You got any siblings, though? Enough about me."

 

In a fleeting second, Nico surprised gaze was frozen in place, stilled against the flow of time. He quickly diverted his gaze toward the streets outside, his inky pupil melancholically straitened. Ironically, perhaps, a tint of blue from whatever sign out there reflected its color on his forlorn orbs, then the guy's breathing gradually slowed. Will wondered if he asked the wrong question. Guilt engulfed his gut, sent through his spine a spark of ice, his sense tingled for him to apologize, yet his eyes and soul could not utter a sound, for Nico's woebegone beauteousness was whittled out of glass - elegant yet fragile, merely for eyes to touch yet not for caress to see - and was it a tragic piece of art, for miseries were the element of its painstakingly exquisite portrayal, a burden so cumbersome, yet bleached with tears and bloodshed into a pulchritude. Was it so heartbreaking that this crestfallen beauty required breathing, required blood to stream through its vein, required neurons to send flares of sorrow throughout his body? There would exist neither pain nor beauty without the rushes of life prodding through human's veins, yet such grace was inflicted upon unfeeling woods, and not another beating heart. Was it fair for the universe to sculpt a life into a living art? Was all that was at stake worth the torment to form such transcending elegance: ichor surging through a sculpture of agony, living force pounding against the hewed claw marks? Perhaps the only path to truly touched human's heart through art was to whittle such art upon living beings, for cruelty was only acknowledged after a costly disaster.

 

Nico suddenly seemed so small and fragile against the friction of time. As if after all those adorned embellishments were peeled away, only the broken, terrified child remain. A child so young yet had already felt such immense sufferings. His stature stiffened, eyes still not dared for any being to see, yet Will had found the scarred child deep within.

 

Would he shatter if a sound dared to intrude this coagulated silence?

 

And for Will acknowledged that the man there was human, that life thrived within him unconsciously, he spoke. His voice trembled more than he thought it would be, the agony he felt more than his conscious mind was aware of.

 

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it. I'm sorry if... the subject is sensitive to you."

 

Will saw the surprise jerk of Nico's shoulder; as if the air his words resonated suddenly shook him awake from his dream. Eyes still lost in the crowded world outside, Nico gently whisper, barely enough for Will to catch

 

"It's alright..." There is a pause, before his wavering voice steadied itself, "I have a half-sister, Hazel, you probably didn't notice her from the karaoke night."

 

Something was hidden within such curt and simple reply, yet Will didn't probe. Didn't dare to, and didn't want to. He respected the guy's secrecy, and since there were hidden words in his sentences earlier, it was not fair to further provoking Nico's woe. He brought the cup of coffee and the cake to Nico's table himself this time, the sudden clicks of porcelain against wood once more shook the ebony orbs out of their pondering.

 

"See, you're not that much taller than me." Nico tried to make a joke, tried to smile instead of a grimace, yet the dusky-colored air around them had yet to fade away. Sorrow clutched into the air, not quite ready to part yet.

 

"Whatever, kid." Will so desperately wanted to ruffle his hair, to run his calloused hands through Nico's soft onyx locks, like how he often did to console Kayla and Austin's tears, yet found himself not able to. For some reason, he sat down, opposite to Nico, the laptop stood between them like a barrier.

 

Nico did not comment. His eyes betrayed his defensive stature; they longed for Will to share their pain, for Will to deepened his light into those impossibly dark pits.

 

"I had a bigger sister, too" was all Nico muttered, the sound waves emitted were so tiny against the movement of air. Will thought he had misheard his words, but beside the quiet, foggy voice, each consonant was clear and void.

 

Unconsciously, Will's palm reached the other's trembling hand, the quiver so negligible that it was almost impossible to felt.  _ 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 _ taps. A pause.  _ 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 _ , again. The steady rhythms gave them something to focus on.

 

Outside, a summer rain merrily marched its way through the town.

 

\-------

 

That day, Nico barely got anything written in the shop. First was the mention of his... family, then it was the persistent tapping of Will's gentle fingertips against his hand. The sunlike warmth of his palm left a burnt imprint on Nico's olive-skin. Not that at that point, his brain was in the shape to get anything done.

 

Honestly, he didn't blame Will. It wasn't like he was a seer or any of the like; the guy didn't know how sensitive he was to the slightest allusion toward Bianca, and it wasn't his fault that their conversation was about siblings and family. If it was anything to go by, in the end, Nico still disclosed the fact that Bianca existed.

 

Existed. Exists. Existing. Existed.

 

He no longer sure if it would matter if Will knew about the incident.

\--------

 

_ "A thickened air of tense quietness embraced the pair before Mei could bring herself to glanced once more into Songoro's eyes. The ambers that she had grown to trust upon were fogged with inquietude and hesitation. The taut, soundless atmosphere felt like extreme humidity; as if every particle in the air was gravitating toward their inner battle, ravenous for the taste of their struggle on some quantum-scaled tongues. The room temperature seemed to drop, the esurient air besieged their breathing, hindered the oxygen exchange. Right, Mei felt suffocated, purely from tense uncertainty and anticipation - suspense for whatever decision they were going to make. _

 

_ The burden of the world had mushed their lungs together, flat, voided of life. _

 

_ And thus, so was the plan they schemed. Voided of humanity and compassion, void of empathy and moral. And soon, voided of breathing being. _

 

_ There was too long yet too little time for Mei to decipher the lines embarked on Songoro's face. Too long the days they spent staring into papers, scheme, and strategies; too little the hours they spent to know the hidden anxiety, the turbulent emotions within their hearts. _

 

_ Mei was aware of how Songoro often stared into her eyes, discretely, from a respectful reach. Not the way another general drilled into another, piercing his way through her armored arguments to find a sophistry; his gaze was compassionate and empathetic, the very way opposite with the nature of their incoming work, yet she won't complain. They were human, after all, she reminded herself. But the way she remembered the moments when Songoro's ambers were limpid and sharp made it hard to be so, as of right now. _

 

_ She knew what his eyes meant when he stared at her like that. As if he was trying to decode the misery in her eyes, then gave up and lured himself into a still observation. She knew the poetic way he was assessing her pain. It was ludicrous. She knew that he tempted to convey the torment in her eyes into some crudely stunning arts. That whatever scars and marks were indented on the mahogany of her skin, that he would sketch them as adornments for his sculpture. As if sorrow was exquisite and her body was the gold-varnished embodiment of despair. As if the ichor rushing through her veins and her scars coalesced into diamonds. It made her conscious, now, when the gloom had melted away from her heart. Songoro meant well, Mei reminded herself, despite the inner protest of her mind. How tired she was of compassionate eyes throw their gazes toward her direction -  as if the woe within her was a black hole, gluttonous for empathy. Mei was not craving for their silent consolation, still, the rain of their collective guilt over her past drenched her lungs. _

 

_ But Songoro was a man of action, one of the only people whose next step was not away from her to nurse their own tears, but toward Mei in her forlorn expression and awkwardly tried to console her. Her mind suddenly drifted toward the steady beat of Phoebe’s fingers against her skin. _

 

_ Of course, she noticed the hurt in his eyes, too, as it emerged from the ocean of amber he desperately drowned it under. Mei noticed it before, and it was here, at that very moment, as they decide if the sacrifices were going to worth the chance. She saw the perturbation threatened to emerge and devastate his mind; a burden handled so immaculately at the first sight that no one bothers to lingered a bit longer, to see that his barricade was about to shatter into pieces just as glass. There was an invisible responsibility in his shoulder and the weariness it inflicted upon his darkened eyes, a strain that ruptured the gemstones that were his eyes, his dam, his panoply. Mei wondered if there was something else hidden in his silence; a thought so personal and unfathomable that no one could reach into. Countless times she heard the quietest of audible noise escaped his thought before sound succumbed to the roaring silence of their own awkwardness, speechlessness, and guilt. Mei could understand, yet not truly feel, how onerous and harrowing the plan was going to be for Songoro - if there was an unspeakable cause of his hesitancy. Yet, one thought she was certain of amidst the grueling nature of this moment, was that sooner or later, they would need an immense resilience to accept that this was the best they could think of. _

 

_ The only strength they need was the strength to admit that someone's blood would be on their hand. And that there was no other way. _

 

_ Thus, Mei squeezed his hand. Firmly. Twice. So that their ideal was spared a chance to blossom." _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello people, I'm back. I hate writer block and life but at one point or another I would have to deal with them...  
> I did not intend for this chapter to head this way but... well, I did it, didn't I. I kinda hoped to drill more about Will's past but my characterization for him and the flow of this story doesn't allow me to do that, yet. (huehuehuehue). One thing for sure, I love my sons to death.


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